As sex blogs go, this one is pretty terrible. I posted some titillating stuff for a while there - all from memory with no embellishments, might I add - but I've just taken a more than six month hiatus. Terrible manners! But what can I say. My monstrous sex drive was definitely calmed after the encounter with the old friend, and after that I had a sexually uneventful but insanely busy summer.
I've just emerged from a two-month actual relationship. It might rekindle in a while, and in my head and heart it is definitely still going on, but it's a complicated story with unnecessary details. I could write it all here, but it's not very sexy, and that's what my friends are there for, anyway.
The whole thing developed with the kind of comforting normalcy I have never actually experienced. I had been insanely attracted to him when we first met, but it was in a kind of work situation, and he was extremely intimidating so I never pursued it, and then the work thing ended. When I bumped into him in August, I was pleased to see that I was still attracted, and he wasn't quite as intimidating, and we started hanging out with mutual friends, and then we started hanging out alone and listening to music and watching movies, and then one night I slept over even though I lived a laughably short distance away, and then I stayed there pretty much every other day; whenever he and I were both free.
The first time I slept in his bed, we made love. I had my period. I let him know very soon after crawling into bed, but it didn't remotely put him off. That was the first time I ever had sex on my period; the first time someone went down on me while I was bleeding. It was a welcome surprise; I liked him a lot and was very attracted to him, but half-expected to pat him on the head when it came time for a repeat encounter and suggest some other activity (that kind of thing just doesn't happen to me, you see; I don't meet boys who are funny, who I like the look of, who are smart, who I'm attracted to, who are actually available and there and present, who know how to please me in bed. Or who I would even let into my bed in the first place.). But there I was, bleeding, with a bloody pantyliner, and there he was, dipping and licking and sucking and making me crazy, and surfacing to kiss me, and god. Yum. When he finally got inside me, I was literally shaking with anticipation, almost biting his lips in my hunger for him. I felt his bones through his skin, his marzipan-smooth skin, and we twisted round each other and apart and... well, this feels so silly to write, but it didn't feel like fucking. Yes, he had his weenie in my privates; no question about that; and yes, it was going in and out. But there was something else going on.
The last time we had sex, he unexpectedly bit my thighs as he worked on my vulva relentlessly with his fingers, effortlessly coaxing yet another orgasm out of me. I had never been bitten in sex before and it drove me insane. After sating each other spoon fashion, we fell asleep still joined, and stayed that way, warmly silky, for some time. The last time we made love, he twisted my flesh in his hands, slapped me, chewed on my nipples, bruised the soft flesh around my vulva with his hands, left biting kisses on my buttocks, pulled my hair. It was violent, almost angry, but lacked none of the fluidity so present in our previous, more dreamy encounters and afterwards, as ever, we sweetly draped round each other in sleep.
It feels funny to be writing about this. As anonymous as this blog is, it's strange to pull this sweet, dark, bitter, visceral, pretty, internal thing out and see it in normal, everyday, tungsten light, instead of by light that seems to shine through red, pulsating veins through a tiny crack...
I've been driven mad! See?
Still, I'm trying to rationalise the relationship in my head, and I'll try and sort out some sex writing about it if I can. I think it might be healthy.
I've just emerged from a two-month actual relationship. It might rekindle in a while, and in my head and heart it is definitely still going on, but it's a complicated story with unnecessary details. I could write it all here, but it's not very sexy, and that's what my friends are there for, anyway.
The whole thing developed with the kind of comforting normalcy I have never actually experienced. I had been insanely attracted to him when we first met, but it was in a kind of work situation, and he was extremely intimidating so I never pursued it, and then the work thing ended. When I bumped into him in August, I was pleased to see that I was still attracted, and he wasn't quite as intimidating, and we started hanging out with mutual friends, and then we started hanging out alone and listening to music and watching movies, and then one night I slept over even though I lived a laughably short distance away, and then I stayed there pretty much every other day; whenever he and I were both free.
The first time I slept in his bed, we made love. I had my period. I let him know very soon after crawling into bed, but it didn't remotely put him off. That was the first time I ever had sex on my period; the first time someone went down on me while I was bleeding. It was a welcome surprise; I liked him a lot and was very attracted to him, but half-expected to pat him on the head when it came time for a repeat encounter and suggest some other activity (that kind of thing just doesn't happen to me, you see; I don't meet boys who are funny, who I like the look of, who are smart, who I'm attracted to, who are actually available and there and present, who know how to please me in bed. Or who I would even let into my bed in the first place.). But there I was, bleeding, with a bloody pantyliner, and there he was, dipping and licking and sucking and making me crazy, and surfacing to kiss me, and god. Yum. When he finally got inside me, I was literally shaking with anticipation, almost biting his lips in my hunger for him. I felt his bones through his skin, his marzipan-smooth skin, and we twisted round each other and apart and... well, this feels so silly to write, but it didn't feel like fucking. Yes, he had his weenie in my privates; no question about that; and yes, it was going in and out. But there was something else going on.
The last time we had sex, he unexpectedly bit my thighs as he worked on my vulva relentlessly with his fingers, effortlessly coaxing yet another orgasm out of me. I had never been bitten in sex before and it drove me insane. After sating each other spoon fashion, we fell asleep still joined, and stayed that way, warmly silky, for some time. The last time we made love, he twisted my flesh in his hands, slapped me, chewed on my nipples, bruised the soft flesh around my vulva with his hands, left biting kisses on my buttocks, pulled my hair. It was violent, almost angry, but lacked none of the fluidity so present in our previous, more dreamy encounters and afterwards, as ever, we sweetly draped round each other in sleep.
It feels funny to be writing about this. As anonymous as this blog is, it's strange to pull this sweet, dark, bitter, visceral, pretty, internal thing out and see it in normal, everyday, tungsten light, instead of by light that seems to shine through red, pulsating veins through a tiny crack...
I've been driven mad! See?
Still, I'm trying to rationalise the relationship in my head, and I'll try and sort out some sex writing about it if I can. I think it might be healthy.
posted by daphnis at 6:09 PM
1 Comments:
Mmm. Being bitten makes me bite back, and warmly silkily spooning is the stuff of rainy Sunday mornings...
Yum. Great to have you back, Daphnis!
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